


we bleed the same color.

by finalphax



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Honestly?, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know why I made this, I'M GONNA, I'm tired, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, and gave me daddy issues, because that line kinda traumatized me, haha my dad makes me sad, i feel like the end is rushed, i'm having a hard time and picturing connor doing this helped me sorta, like really bad, mean hank anderson, self-harming connor, so that's why i'm saying hank was mean, sorry it's late, stop ranting in the god damn tags now, there was actually a line in here that my dad said to me once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15209678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalphax/pseuds/finalphax
Summary: Connor self-harms. He enjoys it.





	1. Chapter 1

Connor had been experiencing pain for fifty-eight days now.

It was his favorite sensation.

The way the sharp edge pressed into his artificial skin, the way his thirium pooled in the indentation before it ran down his wrists, the awful shock it sent through him. Even in the afterglow, when he had to burn the wound to shut it, he enjoyed it. There was no other feeling as strong as pain.

From his research, he knew that ‘cutting’ and other forms of self-harm were typically associated with mental illnesses, such as depression and anxiety. He knew that those were not the cause, and attributed it to simply enjoying the sensation of feeling something.

Amanda was disappointed. Connor didn’t care. He avoided the topic at all costs, and if Amanda pushed, he simply remained silent. She had no hold over him. It only excited him more. This was something he could do that was completely in his control.

So he did it as much as possible.

He had already needed two thirium refills, and in preparation for the future, had stocked up on ten additional refill pouches. And, unfortunately, he had stained his suits too many times to count. Connor made sure to have extra shirts and jackets handy if he ever bled through.

Connor was aware of the issues present with his self harm addiction. _Addiction._ He was an android. He shouldn’t be able to be addicted to anything. Only a defective model, a deviant, could experience something like this. Normally, he’d return to CyberLife and simply be replaced, but he knew he never would. He never wanted to give up this error in his programming, the error that allowed him to feel pain in the first place.

It had happened almost two months ago. A simple case, really, but the way the deviant had struck him caused something to switch, and Connor was instantly hooked. He didn’t care if this meant he was a deviant now - he was addicted to feeling. He loved it. He needed it. The pain was a part of him now.

Of course, Hank was not happy with this development. When he finally caught up to Connor, the poor android was writhing on the ground, screaming for dear life. It nearly shattered the crusty remains of what used to be a heart in the man.

When the pain first subsided, Connor grimaced at the endless wall of error messages. He swatted them away, opting to scan himself instead of sit there and read what was wrong with him. Visibly, he looked alright, save for a large gash down his chest. It narrowly avoided his thirium pump, meaning that he wouldn’t need a replacement. Hell, he wouldn’t even need to go back to CyberLife for this. He would just need some thirium to replace what he had lost.

But the pain. That’s what really got to him. Not the imminent threat upon his life, but the pain shooting throughout his body. He was overly sensitive now; as he moved to stand, he scratched his knee on the cement and nearly collapsed again. His pant leg had ripped earlier, exposing the pale faux skin underneath.

His initial reaction was fear.

“Hank, what happened to me…?” he asked, his voice as light as the wind. The lieutenant practically scooped him up, hugging him tightly to his chest.

“You’re okay, Con, you’re gonna be just fine,” he mumbled, but he seemed just as rattled as Connor.

Thinking back on it, there was some sensation there that he wished he could explore, but… he couldn’t go back. His processors were constantly overwhelmed by the urge to see that beautiful sapphire blood again. It left an ache in his chest that hurt in his favorite way.

The ache begged him to rip into his chest and tear out every wire, processor, and biocomponent his hands could reach. Connor promised himself that he would never go that far, no matter how good the ache promised it would be.

But the idea felt good.

Sometimes, instead of hurting, he would just fantasize about it, and it would have the same effect. The same _pleasure._ It took him a long time to confirm it, but the pleasure wasn’t sexual. It was just simple, pure pleasure. Euphoria. Excitement and fear and _emotions._ The pain made him feel alive. Being alive was addicting.

 

\----

 

When he returned to Hank’s house that night, he could barely contain himself. Tripping over Sumo, he made his way to the bathroom, not taking any of his regular precautions to clean himself first or even remove his clothes. The urge was strong today.

Sometimes, only sometimes, like when Hank went to Jimmy’s Bar before heading home, Connor would sneak into his room and steal the knife he kept in his bedside table. It had a small engraving at the tip of the handle - “H.A.”. Connor thought this was ironic, since Hank had made that one quip in Rupert’s apartment about grade school, but maybe it had been a gift?

Regardless, something about it heightened his senses. He felt like he was doing something wrong, something even worse than usual. It felt… intimate? Not to mention the blade was so sharp and smooth… The first cut was nearly painless, but it was the follow up slices that really did the trick. One long initial cut followed by an assault of much smaller lines across it.

He let the blade slip under his plastic skin, hissing at the pain, but loving it at the same time. The rush of adrenaline, the fear, the sense of accomplishment at managing such a feat without being told.

Connor got carried away. As he came down from his temporary state of _feeling,_ he realized there was a knife in his arm. Not just under the skin like it had been, but the tip of the blade was poking out of the other side. His arm stung horribly, and the ache in his chest seemed to spread to his arm.

 _Do it,_ the ache begged, _rip yourself to pieces._

For the first time and the last time, Connor listened to the ache.

 

\----

 

Hank returned home to silence. This wasn’t unusual, but he couldn’t help but feel as though something was wrong. Sumo greeted him with a lazy wag of his tail; well, at least the beast was okay. Hank patted his head, glancing around.

Where the hell was Connor?

He opened his mouth to call out, but something in his alcohol-muddled brain told him that was a bad idea. Not that he had many good ideas, but that’s not the point.

The house was small. If Connor wasn’t in the kitchen or the dining room, that left the bedroom or the bathroom. He didn’t see why Connor would need to be in the bathroom, so into the bedroom he went.

Except Connor wasn’t in there.

Hank checked everywhere. Under the bed, in the closet, in the- okay, his room wasn’t that big. If he was going to find Connor in there, he would have. Which meant he was in the bathroom.

He tapped on the door with his knuckles, listening for a response. “Connor? You in there?” The sound of shoes squeaking on tiles and something heavy thudding against the bathtub was all he needed. He pushed the door open, his mind reeling as he processed what was in front of him.

Blue blood on the sink and the floor. Connor breathing fast and hard, curled up in the tub like a bat with a flashlight in its face. Except this bat had a knife through its wing, and was bleeding everywhere. “Jesus Christ, Connor! What the fuck happened?”

Connor quickly glanced around, then yanked the shower curtain shut. Wow. Amazing strategy. Hank nearly tore it off the rod as it yanked it back. “Fucking a’, Con, you’re bleeding everywhere…”

“It’s fine, lieutenant, I have everything under control.” The swirling red light on his forehead told Hank otherwise.

“Bullshit,” he spit at him, anger masking the pure fear coursing through his veins. He knelt down next to the bathtub and reached for Connor’s arm. When he pulled it away, Hank frowned and clamped his hand down on Connor’s wrist. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s… not what it looks like, lieutenant.” Hank had many problems with that statement. He’d unpack it all later.

“Then can you tell me what the fuck is going on? There’s a knife in your-”

…

“Is that my god damn knife?!”

Connor didn’t have an answer.

“Did someone break in and attack you?” He didn’t see any sign of a break-in or struggle, but his brain couldn’t think of anything else.

“No… No one broke in.” Hank raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. Connor hung his head guiltily, LED still red. “...I did this to myself.”

Hank still didn’t understand. Connor took this to mean he was angry.

“I’m sorry, Hank, I didn’t want to tell you, please, don’t send me back-”

“You did this to yourself?”

Connor found it hard to speak. The ache was spreading. Why did hurting feel so good?

“Connor, what exactly did you do?”

“Hank, I… cut myself. I’ve been doing it for weeks.”

Hank was silent. If he had one, his little spinny light would be stuck on yellow. “So… you’re saying I’ve got a suicidal android?”

“I’m not… I’m not suicidal.”

“Then what the fuck are you trying to do?”

Connor tried to pull away from Hank. Hank didn’t let go of his wrist. “I don’t know how to explain it to you. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Fucking Christ, there are still emos in 2038? This world has really gone to shit. We got emo fucking robots.”

The ache was building, but this time, the excitement faded, and Connor was left with fear. Fear that Hank would hate him and kick him out and never want to see him again. He could feel the ache spreading from his chest and arm to his head, crowding his thoughts.

_He’s disappointed in you. Disgusted. He hates you for what you’ve done._

For the first time in Connor’s life, he did not want to run from death.

“I was wrong,” he said, staring absently past Hank.

“Uh, yeah, I’d say you were pretty wrong. Why the hell did you do this?”

“No, I… that’s not what I meant.”

“You’re really starting to piss me off with all this nonsense, Connor. Just be fuckin’ clear with me.”

Connor was silent. This made Hank more upset.

“Tell me what the fuck’s going on, Connor!”

“I want to fucking kill myself, Hank!”

Once again, Hank hated the silence in the house. The silence that filled his head. There was a buzzing in his chest; worry and fear and hatred. He hated whatever sick bastard at CyberLife decided to make Connor able to feel like this.

He looked down at the android still curled up in the tub. He was crying now, something that Hank had previously deemed Connor incapable of. He was still bleeding, and his condition seemed to be getting worse.

“C’mon, Connor. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Hank leaned down and did his best to help pull Connor to his feet. After a few pathetic yet sincere attempts, Connor stood on his own and stepped out of the tub, guiltily avoiding eye contact.

“We have to burn it,” Connor mumbled, and Hank looked at him, quickly losing his patience again.

“Burn _what?_ ”

“The wounds. Androids can heal quickly, but at this rate, I’ll lose too much thirium before then. We have to burn my skin.”

“No. We are absolutely not fucking doing that. You’re already in a lot of pain.”

“That was the goal,” he said, sounding a lot like he had given up. Hank hated it. “Look, there’s no other way, Hank. Unless you want me to bleed out on the sofa.” Connor didn’t look like he had a problem with that idea. Which Hank had a problem with.

“Shut it. I’m gonna find a different way, and you’re not gonna hurt yourself anymore, got it?” Connor was silent as Hank led him down the hallway to the couch. “I said, got it?”

Connor looked down at his feet.

“Jesus Christ,” he griped, awkwardly pushing on Connor’s shoulders to get him to sit. He sat.

The knife was still in his arm.

Hank quickly headed back to the bathroom to grab bandages, pausing briefly as he grimaced at the sink. Connor said he had been doing this for weeks… And Hank only found out now when he has a fucking knife in his arm.

When he got back to the couch, Connor was pulling at the knife.

“No no no fucking- stop that!” Hank ran around the couch, grabbing Connor’s un-knifed arm. “You’re already bleeding a lot, if you pull it out, you’ll bleed more.”

“I know.”

“Then why-”

Hank trailed off. He knew he didn’t need to finish that question.

He headed into the kitchen, grabbed a roll of paper towels, and went back to the couch. He set the bandages down, folded up a few paper towels, and dabbed - ew, he hadn’t heard that word in so long - at the blood on Connor’s arm. “I’ll pull it out in a minute. But I don’t want you touching it anymore, okay?”

This time, Connor nodded, and Hank was satisfied. He cleaned Connor’s arm off a little, and the cuts came into view, along with the layers of burns and scars from weeks prior. He cursed softly and wrapped a few bandages around the area that was knife-free.

“This is probably going to hurt, Connor. I’ll be quick, but try to stay still for me.” Connor thankfully held back any comments and nodded. Hank pulled the knife out.

Connor sobbed. Hank’s battered heart managed to break more.

Hank wrapped bandages around the hole in Connor’s arm, pulling it tighter to keep pressure on the wound. Even though he was done taking care of Connor now, he didn’t feel done. He felt like he had to address everything that had happened.

“I thought androids couldn’t feel pain?”

“Deviants do.”

“Quit the emo bull. You said you’ve been doing this for a while. Tell me what happened.”

“...Do you remember that deviant on the roof? The one who cut my chest and kicked me?”

“...Christ, it was that long ago?”

“When he hit me, something must have broken, a-and all I could feel was this… _burning._ It was the first thing I’ve ever felt, Hank. I didn’t want to let that go.”

“Oh, god, are you saying it turns you on? What the fuck, Connor?”

“No. I didn’t know what I got from it at first, but I know now. I… I know it’s awful. Nobody should do what I’ve done. But… feeling pain after feeling _nothing_ for so long… Even on the rooftop, I knew I wanted to feel it again. I felt like I was going crazy.”

Hank didn’t have any snide comments this time. He just sat and listened. He didn’t know what to do. Connor had seemingly gotten lost in his own thoughts, eyes shut, spilling everything.

“I didn’t do anything for a few days, but that made it worse. It was all I could think about, Hank, I… I wanted… I _needed_ to feel again… There was this ache in my chest, and it wouldn’t go away until I did it…” He stopped and looked down at his fucked up arms. “All the terrible things I’ve done… It hurts so much, but hurt is all I have.”

Hank put a hand on Connor’s thigh, patting him gently. He didn’t want Connor to feel alone right now, or ever again. He wanted to make sure Connor stayed safe.

“I… I did feel something good, once. A good ache.” Okay, Hank was interested. If Connor felt something good, he could focus on that, and not have to resort to stealing knives to cut himself up with. “The same night I first felt pain. Except… I don’t know what the good ache was. All I’ve felt since then is the bad ache.”

They were both silent for a moment before Sumo whined, signalling that it was officially getting late. The big pup wanted to sleep. “You should rest, or something. I need to sleep. If you’re feeling up to it, we can keep talking in the morning.” Although part of Hank hoped that this was all some alcohol induced hallucination, and he’d wake up in an alley or something.

“Can I sleep with you?”

Hank stopped dead in his tracks. “Excuse me?” Jesus, one surprise after the other tonight. Couldn’t Hank catch a break?

“You don’t want me to be alone, right…?”

Hank sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was too tired to argue. “Okay, just… don’t make it weird.” It was already weird.

Hank headed into his room, Sumo at his heels. By the time Hank had stripped off his jacket, Connor was already climbing under the sheets. He didn’t have the energy to yell anymore. Not that he wanted to, anyway. He was getting sleepy, and that meant his angry facade was fading away.

“Look, Connor, I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. You just… kinda scared the shit out of me. I thought you were going to die.” He glanced down at himself and sighed. Connor didn’t care if Hank wore pants or not, right? It didn’t really matter if he did, because there was no way Hank was sleeping in fucking jeans. Off they went.

“I’m sorry, lieutenant. When I’m… feeling emotional, I can sometimes get a little carried away.” Ugh. He was seriously being cold again already?

“When we’re not working, it’s Hank, got it? None of this… lieutenant crap.”

“Sorry, Hank.”

“It’s alright.” Hank walked around the bed, lifted the sheets, and crawled under. Okay, as weird as this was, Hank felt strangely comforted. It had been a long time since he had someone else sleep in his bed. Sumo didn’t count because he didn’t like being under the covers, and he smelled.

Hank noticed Connor’s LED was still yellow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Yeah, because when you blurt it out that fast, it’s definitely true.

“Uh huh. You can’t get away with lying when I can see your little light there, Robocop.” Connor pouted and covered the side of his head with his hand.

“...You said we could talk more in the morning.”

“I said if you wanted to. You can talk now, if you really want.”

“...Hank, do you hate me?”

Hank was quiet. He knew damn well he didn’t hate Connor. But why was he asking? “No. I don’t hate you. I just wish I understood your plastic ass better.”

Connor nodded, removed his hand, and after a few moments, his LED switched to blue. Then back to yellow. “Do you know what the good ache is?”

“I’ve felt a lot of aches, Connor. I’m old.”

“Not like that. I mean… It’s not really… painful. It’s…”

“It’s just kinda there? Like there’s a rock in your stomach, even if you haven’t eaten anything?”

“...It is similar to that, yes. It… it feels warm, and it… makes the pain go away… I don’t know what to call it.”

“Clearly,” Hank yawned, starting to drift off. He felt a hand on his stomach, his eyes snapping open. “The hell are you doing?”

“It’s right here. The good ache.” Connor’s hand was on Hank’s stomach, level with the last couple of ribs in his chest. Hank looked over at him questioningly.

“When do you… feel the good ache?” He felt like he was talking to a baby.

“...When you’re nice to me. When we’re close.” Connor’s gaze traveled from his hand up to Hank’s face.

Hank had an idea of what the good ache was.

“This feels so much better than the bad ache.”

Hank agreed.

“You need to rest, Connor.” Casually deflecting any possible stressful scenario like a fucking pro.

“I don’t want to.”

Yep, definitely like talking to a fucking baby.

“What do you want, then?”

Connor stared at him, his LED swirling yellow. Then it turned blue.

“You. I want you.”

Hank decided he was done for the night.

“Goodnight, Connor.”

“Hank?”

Oh Jesus Christ.

“What, Connor?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes.” And he wished that he hadn’t. It gave him a good and bad ache. The worst kind of ache.

“...What is your opinion?”

“My opinion is roll over and shut your mouth.”

“...Okay. I’m sorry.”

Wait. No.

“Connor, I don’t think you’re feeling well.”

“...This has been established.”

“I mean, what you said… It’s bullshit.”

“How so…?”

 _Why would anyone want me?_ Hank contemplated how to phrase it in a way Connor would understand. “You’re… young. New. Bright. You… you have a future. I don’t have anything to offer you.”

“I disagree.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Hank… You’ve given me the only compassion I’ve ever known. You’ve opened your home to me, spilled your darkest secrets with me, you’re… you’re my partner, and… you care about me. You’ve given me something to hold onto.”

Sounds like a bunch of hoopla.

“I haven’t done shit. I just yell at you a lot.”

“I understand it is your way of dealing with fear. We all have bad coping mechanisms, Hank.”

Hank was silent. He let himself think about what Connor was saying.

His ache intensified.

“You already have a bad coping mechanism. Don’t let me be another one.”

“Hank… You’re not bad.”

“I don’t want to talk about my problems right now.”

“Okay. We don’t have to. I…” He trailed off. Hank saw a flash of yellow in the dark room, then more blue. “Okay.”

“You’re not done talking.”

“...No.”

“Okay, spit it out. Then I’m going to sleep.”

Connor took a deep, unnecessary breath. “I think I know what the good ache is.”

Hank half wished Connor wouldn’t finish his thought.

“It’s… love.”

Oh Jesus fucking Christ.

Hank rolled over, back facing Connor, and tried to fall asleep.

“Lieutenant…?”

He couldn’t handle this right now.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t- I shouldn’t have…”

Fuck. Fuck it all.

“You love me?”

“...Yes.”

“That’s dumb.”

“I… What…?”

“I’m a crusty old man, Connor. I drink myself half to death every night and yell at anything that moves. I’m not… I’m not someone to love.”

“Oh. Then what is the good ache…?”

“Heartburn?”

Despite everything, Connor _laughed._ He actually fucking laughed. Hank let a smile creep onto his face.

“You know that can’t be it, lieutenant.”

“Enough with the lieutenant shit. Hank at home, Con.”

“...Home.”

“What?”

“You… gave me a home, Hank. You’ve given me so much, so many things I’ve never had before. I… don’t care what you think of yourself. I love you, Hank.”

Hank started to protest, but then he remembered what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. Connor’s ‘bad ache’. If this was his good ache, Hank should let him explore it, right? It wouldn’t hurt. At least, not like the bad ache did.

Plus, Hank knew he had the good ache for Connor, too. It was just mixed with the bad one.

Hank looked over at Connor, and felt his breath catch in his throat. The robot looked damn near angelic. Even in the dark, his dark eyes shined, and Hank, stupid, weak Hank, was not strong enough. He put a hand on Connor’s cheek, and the damn fucking android purred. He was so done with this.

“Hank, I love you,” he said again, carefully putting his wounded arm’s hand on top of Hank’s. Connor smiled wider and said it again. “I love you, I love you…”

Hank was dying. He hadn’t felt so gay in years.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Very much, Hank. I love you.”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me, Connor. Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“The fucking ‘I love you’s.”

“But… it makes the good ache feel better…”

Okay, if it made Connor happy, then it was fine, right?

“Fine.”

Connor smiled and quickly resumed his little mantra. For a few minutes, at least. Every single one made Hank’s heart melt a little more.

Until he stopped.

“Can… can you say it, Hank…?”

Who the hell was Hank to turn down a literal fucking angel?

“You’ve ruined me, Connor. ...Love you.”

Connor fucking laughed again, his eyes crinkling as his entire face lit up and softened. It was like the shit in the bathroom hadn’t even happened at all, but there was nothing wrong with that. Hank was warm in his bed, and the most precious android in the world was confessing his undying love for the man on a loop. “I love you, Hank…”

After a while, Hank actually started to believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are a bitch for everyone. No one is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all really liked this so here you goooo!! also sorry for the weird spacing im too tired to fix it right now

It was a total of four days until Connor hurt himself again. Hank hadn’t brought up the events that took place, when he found Connor in the bathroom, or even after, when they slept together. In the morning, they went to work, and everything was the same. Except somehow, it was worse. So much worse.

 

Connor hated it. He hated the way his lieutenant wouldn’t look at him. He didn’t make any jokes. Hell, he wouldn’t even fucking glare at him when he did something Connor-y. And Connor even fucking tried to get his attention, reverting back to his initial, more mechanical ways. Licking evidence. Playing dumb. Over-explaining everything in the most complicated ways to get some sort of reaction out of Hank.

 

The realization hit him like a truck. He was right. It had taken a while to set in, but he knew now that Hank hated him. He hated him more than when they had first met. He couldn’t get the thought out of his mind.

 

_ Hank hated him. Hank hated him. Hank fucking  _ **_hated_ ** _ him. _

 

Connor couldn’t wait to go home this time. He had to do something  _ now _ .

 

He was glad that he had decided to keep a razor blade in his desk.

 

The bad ache ate away at him as he headed into the bathroom. No weird stare from Hank, or anyone else. He felt invisible. Good. He didn’t want anyone to see what he was about to do.

 

There were four stalls in the bathroom, all unoccupied. Connor decided the handicapped stall would best suit him for what he was about to do. He shut the door, locked it, and put his suit jacket on the hook on the inside of the door. Sure, cutting himself always made him nervous, but this time, he felt genuinely afraid. If he was caught, they’d send him back to CyberLife in an instant. It would be over for him.

 

Connor rolled up his sleeves, leaned over the sink, and cut a thin line along his forearm.  _ Hank hates you _ . He felt the bad ache mix with the good one, and pressed down harder as he started a new line.  _ You’re defective. _ He bit his lip and pressed down even harder, layering them on top of each other, even switching hands at one point.  _ Kill yourself. _

 

Oh.

 

That one was unexpected.

 

It made the ache stronger.

 

_ Kill yourself, Connor. You’re defective. Hank hates you. No one would even miss you. They’ll be happy that you’re gone. _

 

He looked up at the mirror, at the tears streaming down his cheeks. He looked at his clean, smooth, untouched neck.

 

_ Kill yourself. _

 

Connor punched the mirror.

 

He was fucking terrified.

 

Leaning against the wall, he tried to calm his racing thoughts as he heard the bathroom door burst open. An awful voice called out and had Connor panicking again. “What the fuck’s going on in here?”

 

Gavin. Gavin Reed was going to be the reason Connor died.

 

He couldn’t even hide. There was only one stall occupied: Connor’s.

 

“Whoever the hell is in there, you better explain what’s going on right now.” Silence. What the hell was Connor supposed to say? “Listen, fucknut. I heard you breaking shit. Not only are you destroying government property, it’s gonna come out of  _ my fucking paycheck _ .”

 

Connor was starting to wish he had listened to the bad ache instead. That would have been better. Anything would be better than being curled up in the corner of a public bathroom, crying and bleeding and being yelled at by Gavin Reed.

 

“I’m not gonna warn you again, dipshit! Open the door, or I’ll break it down!”  _ Dipshit _ . Did he know it was Connor…? He had called him that before. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck  _ fuck. _ He knew Gavin was not a patient man, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. All of his damn processors were frozen as Gavin pounded on the door.

 

“Oh, fuck this,” Gavin muttered, and Connor flinched as he waited for the inevitable crash of Gavin knocking down the door.

 

It didn’t come.

 

Instead, Connor strained to hear Gavin’s voice, back in the main office of the precinct. He was yelling, although Connor couldn’t make out what he was saying.

 

This was his chance. He quickly unlocked the stall and started to leave when he caught sight of himself in the bigger mirror above the sinks. There was thirium all over him; shirt, pants, even his face. He couldn’t leave. He had to stay. Back into the stall he went.

 

As Connor locked the stall door and curled back up in the corner, he heard the bathroom door burst open again. His anxiety kicked back up into full gear as he heard an army of footsteps.

 

He was panicking now. Nothing was working. Fear and pain were the only things that existed in that moment. Connor could hear Captain Fowler’s booming voice, could feel the damn walls shake as he pounded on the stall door, but it didn’t seem… real?

 

Was this really happening? Was this his life? Who was he, even? Connor? But there were hundreds of other Connors in a warehouse somewhere, waiting for the moment he died so they could have their turn. He was replaceable. He wasn’t special. It didn’t matter if he died. His life didn’t mean anything to anyone.

 

His hand reached for the remains of the mirror on the floor next to him.

 

As he started to press the glass to his throat, a voice broke through the chaos, the fear, the bad ache.

 

“Connor?”

 

His lieutenant.

  
  


\--------------

  
  


It wasn’t a rare occasion when Gavin decided to throw a fit. Yelling and carrying on like a damn toddler, begging for attention. It took a few minutes before Hank even registered what he was saying.

 

“Some fucker is in the bathroom breaking shit! Who the hell isn’t at their desk?”

 

It took another minute for Hank to realize that his poodle was missing.

 

_ Shit. _

 

By the time he had crossed the room, there was already a small army of lower ranking officers, with Gavin and Fowler mixed in. Fowler made his way to the front as Gavin grinned like a kid who tattled to the teacher.

 

Hank’s heart sank. Connor was fucked.

 

He gritted his teeth, making his way up behind Fowler. That damn android was going to be the death of him. Of all people to piss off, it had to be Fowler and Gavin, the two most unforgiving bastards he knew.

 

As fifteen police officers piled into the bathrooms, Hank found it increasingly difficult to get his bearings. It took a minute before he stopped being polite and started shoving through the crowd, not bothering to apologize. They all muttered to each other, standing idly by like it was a damn spectator sport.

 

Fowler was pounding on the door, threatening whoever happened to be inside. Holy fucking shit. They didn’t know it was Connor. Maybe… Maybe he’d be okay?

 

That idea quickly crumbled as Hank tried to get Jeffrey to stop for one god damn second. He couldn’t tell him to stop without directing the anger and confusion onto himself, and then he’d have to tell them who the offender was. He didn’t want to throw Connor under the bus like that, but Jesus, the poor guy was probably freaking out even more than he was the other night.

 

Hank wasn’t excited to see him like that again.

 

With a groan and a sigh, Hank shoved Fowler out of the way and held his hand up; Jeffrey started to argue, but the look on Hank’s face made him go quiet for once. As the mumbling fell to whispers, then to silence, Hank put his hand back down and took a deep breath.

 

“Connor?”

 

Hank felt the name hover in the fragile silence. No one even dared to breathe, as if they were hiding from the killer in a slasher flick. Or, for a more accurate metaphor, as if they were the killers pretending they hadn’t found the final victim.

 

Hank heard a soft shuffling noise after a few moments, and the door slowly opened, revealing the second worst sight Hank had ever seen. His mouth hung open as he searched for the right words to say.

 

But Gavin found them much quicker. “Of course it was  _ you,  _ you plastic piece of shit!” Hank only managed to catch a glimpse of the horror on Connor’s face as Gavin yanked him out of the stall, pinning him up against the wall. “Tell me why I shouldn’t fucking crack your skull open right now.”

 

Hank didn’t even need to look at Connor’s LED to tell that he was fucking  _ broken _ . He was covered in blue blood and tears, and he looked… Well, he looked like complete shit. He looked even worse than the first time Hank had found him.

 

A part of him felt like it was his fault.

 

He knew he shouldn’t have fucking ignored him for so long.

 

“Answer me!” Gavin roared, and no one stopped him. It took all of Hank’s strength to not knock him out.

 

“Everyone out, right now! Go!” Hank ordered, and there was only a moment’s pause before the officers started filing out without a word. The mystery had been solved, and they would rather miss the show than be the next target.

 

Only Hank, Jeffrey, Gavin, and Connor remained. None of them moved.

 

“I said,  _ everyone _ .” Hank glared at the two other men. They did not leave.

 

Jeffrey crossed his arms, returning the angry look. “I heard you the first time, Hank. This is a serious god damn matter, I can’t just-”

 

“ _ Exactly _ ! It’s a  _ serious god damn matter _ , and you two are gonna lose your best man because of it!”

 

“I don’t think anyone here would miss you that much. Don’t flatter yourself,” Gavin laughed, relinquishing his grip on Connor’s stained shirt. The android fell to his knees, curling up on the cold, hard floor.

 

“I’m not talking about  _ me _ , you little brat.”

 

Everyone was confused.

 

Hank decided that Jeffrey and Gavin were dumb assholes and knelt down to rest a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Hey. Look at me.”

 

Connor did not look at him.

 

Hank wished he had lost at Russian roulette. Seeing Connor like this  _ hurt _ ; he looked worse than Hank did on his bad nights. “Connor. C’mon. What happened?”

 

“I’m defective,” he whimpered, curling up more. Gavin scoffed.

 

“That’s not  _ news _ , dipshit.” Hank had to use every ounce of self control in his body to not punch Gavin in the face again. Fowler sighed, put a hand on Gavin’s arm, and turned to leave. Gavin tore his arm out of his grasp with a disgusted look. “Really? We’re just going to let them get away with this shit  _ again _ ? If  _ anyone _ else pulled a stunt like this, you’d be all over their asses!”

 

“Reed, if you don’t go back to your desk right now-”

 

“ _ No!  _ You’re way too fucking soft on this- this incompetent fucking  _ excuse _ of a person! Ever since his stupid fucking kid died-”

 

That was more than enough to get Hank on his feet in an instant. Everything was a hot blur as he shoved Gavin against the counter and beat the shit out of him. Even as Fowler pulled him off, all he could feel was pure hatred. The ‘bad ache’.

 

Connor was right. When it’s all you feel, it’s all you  _ want _ to feel.

 

Hank’s ears rang as he stared at Gavin as if he was the asshole that killed his son. Fowler stood between them as Gavin slinked back into the hall, then followed after a moment. The silence that followed made the room spin.

 

Connor.

 

Hank knelt back down next to the android, cursing himself for momentarily forgetting him. He ran his hand along his back, trying to soothe him. He was fucking shaking, probably crying again. “Connor? It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here… Can you sit up for me?”

 

After an agonizingly long few seconds, Connor nodded and tried to push himself up. His elbow buckled, but Hank caught him and pushed him the rest of the way up, leaning him against the wall. Jesus, he looked like he had been hit by a damn bus. “Why did you do this again…? I thought we talked about it.”

 

“I-I’m sorry, Hank…” Connor’s voice was barely above a whisper, but Hank felt every syllable like a blow to his stomach. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

 

When Hank first met Connor, he never imagined the damn robot could cry, much less sob, and even much less than that  _ break his god damn heart _ . “It’s okay, slow down, alright? Just… take a deep breath, and we’ll get you cleaned up…”

 

“I-it’s my fault…” The words were barely audible, and Hank leaned in closer as Connor looked up at him, shaking and sobbing and fuck, bleeding  _ everywhere _ .

 

“What is…?”

 

“I…  _ This _ … Everything, i-it’s my fault, you told me not t-to do this anymore, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

 

“Connor, stop! Just… stop, okay? Jesus Christ, take a deep breath. You’re not making any sense.”

 

“I’m sorry, Hank, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you h-hate me, I-I shouldn’t have done what I did, I’m so sorry…”

 

“I’m- I’m not-” Hank sighed, forcing himself to take his own advice. Deep breaths. “I don’t hate you. But you  _ are _ bleeding a lot, and we need to get you cleaned up. C’mon.” He wrapped an arm around Connor, pulling him to his feet. The android clung to Hank’s side, his head low as the man let him lean against the counter.

 

Hank ran a hand through his dirty hair as he glanced around. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to find; he’d have to settle with paper towels this time. That worried him. Connor wasn’t in very good shape. As he started wrapping his arms up, Hank felt a grimace on his face that wouldn’t go away.

 

“Hank, I’m sorry-”

 

“God, quit it with the fucking apologies, Connor. It’s only gonna make you feel worse.” Connor sank back, tugging his arms away from Hank. “Hey, I’m trying to fucking help you-”

 

“What the hell do you care?” Connor yelled, turning his back on Hank, who was trying to find something to say. “If you cared, y-you wouldn’t have…  _ ignored _ me…” He trailed off, then sank back against the counter, hugging himself tightly despite the pain his face conveyed. “But it’s my fault, isn’t it…? I crossed a line, it makes sense you would react like this…” His eyes darted back towards the stall, and Hank noticed the broken glass covering the tiles.

 

Connor stared blankly at the thirium splattered among the fragments of the mirror. He took a few steps forward. Hank put a hand on his chest, shoving him back against the counter. “No. Absolutely fucking not.” Connor looked up at him with the saddest puppy dog eyes Hank had ever seen.

 

“Please, Hank, I-I could end it and fix this mess for everyone…”

 

Hank felt sick.

 

“Grab your jacket. We’re going home.” Hank had grown accustomed to treating Connor like a human, but this was serious. He needed Connor to obey him.

 

“Home…?”

 

“Well, I can’t fucking take care of you here, can I? It’s not safe for you.”

 

For a moment, Hank thought Connor had shut down, but slowly, the android meandered into the stall, grabbed his jacket, and returned to Hank like a depressed puppy fetching a stick. He put a hand on Connor’s back and guided him out of the room and down the hall.

 

“Oh, great. The drunk’s taking his defective pet home.” Gavin sneered from the break room where he was undoubtedly bitching to some poor officer who was too afraid to walk away.

 

“Fuck off, Gavin,” Hank mumbled, pushing Connor just a little bit faster.

 

He didn’t say another word until they made it back to 115 Michigan Drive. Hank helped Connor inside, even though he really didn’t need to, and lead him back to the bathroom to get bandages. As he started to properly wrap Connor’s arms again, he decided to test the waters.

 

“You ready to tell me what happened?” Connor shut his eyes and turned away. Hank sighed. “Connor, did someone… do something… to you at work…?” He shook his head and looked up at him for a moment.

 

“...I couldn’t take it anymore, Hank… I-I wanted to feel the good ache, b-but I couldn’t… I fucked everything up, l-like I always do…” Hank finished wrapping him up, but kept his hands on Connor’s. “I failed again… I-if this is what it’s like being a deviant, I-I don’t want it…” His sad, warm eyes scanned Hank’s face, searching for something. Apparently, he didn’t find what he was looking for. Hank wasn’t surprised.

 

“Let me go, lieutenant. I’ll come back better, and you won’t have to hate me anymore, a-and… you can forget about what happened. I won’t do it again. I promise. I-I won’t let you down again.”

 

“Connor, shut up. I don’t fucking hate you.”

 

Connor was confused.

 

“I know emotions are hard. They suck. They make people do stupid things.” He paused for a second, then gently pulled Connor into a hug. “I didn’t want to ignore you, okay? And I don’t hate you. At all. After what happened, I was… scared.” Connor was silent, either lost in thought or crying again. Maybe both. “I’m not a good person to love.”

 

“...But… you…” Connor leaned back, still holding onto Hank like he didn’t want to pull away. “I  _ want _ to love you…”

 

Hank kinda wanted to die. “Connor… You don’t know what’s good and what’s bad yet, okay?”

 

“I’m not… Hank, I’m not stupid…”

 

The pout on Connor’s face was enough to make Hank want to do what Connor had done. “No, I know that, you’re very smart, okay? I meant… You haven’t been around many… good humans.”

 

“...Hank, I have access to every database CyberLife can access. I don’t need to personally experience  _ everything _ in order for me to know what I… want.”

 

Okay, so Hank was out of excuses now, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He sighed, stood up, and helped Connor towards the bedroom. “Come on, you need time to heal, and I still don’t really get what made you snap earlier.”

 

Connor was quiet as he sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at himself. “I told you. My emotions had built up, and they overwhelmed me. That’s all.”

 

“I call bullshit. That’s not the whole story.” Hank sat next to him, but left some space for Connor to breathe. Metaphorically.

 

Connor’s LED flashed red, and he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. They curled into fists, then tugged at the sheets on the bed, and finally settled into his lap as he glared at the floor. “I let myself be a deviant, I let myself be  _ vulnerable _ , and all I get from it is more pain. I had a chance to… be  _ happy _ … And I fucked it all up. I’m never going to be happy. I was stupid to think I could.”

 

“Just because an old asshole like me can’t make you happy doesn’t mean-”

 

“Shut up, Hank!” As soon as the words came out, Connor looked up at his lieutenant, his eyes wide. “...I… Didn’t mean…”

 

Hank nodded slowly and pushed himself off of the bed, muttering to himself as he went. “Okay. Okay. I’m not dealing with this right now.” He grabbed his coat, slipped his shoes back on, and was half out the door by the time Connor had caught up with him.

 

“Hank,  _ please _ , I didn’t mean it like that, listen to me-”

 

“Oh, so now you want to fucking talk? I’m alone for a reason, Connor, I can’t even deal with my own problems, let alone a god damn android’s. I can’t help you.” He tried to leave again, but Connor held onto Hank’s arm like a god damn statue.

 

“You’re always acting like  _ you _ can’t be happy, and it’s bullshit!  _ That’s  _ what I meant!” Hank sighed and half-turned back towards Connor, who still held on tight to Hank’s poor arm. “You think no one can love you, that you’re already dead and gone, like- like your past is all you are, and I can’t understand it! We… we could be  _ happy _ , I know we could, but you won’t even give me a chance! I’m… I’m not blaming you for what I did, but you’re so  _ frustrating _ sometimes…” His hold loosened a little. “Hank… I meant what I said the other night. I care for you. Please,  _ please _ , just give me a chance.”

 

Hank wanted to ignore everything Connor had just said. He wanted to pull his arm back and go to Jimmy’s Bar like he always did. He wanted to wake up in an alley and head to work like nothing happened, and have his android partner not care that he brought himself closer to the brink of death every damn day. He didn’t want anyone to care because he knew how much it hurt to lose someone. He didn’t want to do that to Connor.

 

Maybe he did care about him.

 

No, that was stupid. He was just lying to himself, and he knew it.

 

Hank loved that stupid deviant partner of his.

  
  


\------

  
  


The change wasn’t immediate. No one can fix years of self-destructive behavior overnight, despite how hard Connor tried. But it showed in the little things. The way Hank let Connor be close when they watched a movie, the way Hank let himself smile back at his partner, the way he held Connor when the bad ache got too strong again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was there, and they loved every second, even if Hank pretended not to. Connor made him promise he would work on that. That  _ they  _ would work on it. Together.


End file.
